


onions are great

by ellievolia



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Time, Fraternities & Sororities, Hijinks & Shenanigans, lots of partying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3624714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love story told through frat parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	onions are great

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom, hello! I had a lot of feelings about Clarke and Bellamy, post marathoning the show, and I felt like writing some silly fun would make me feel better about it all, so I did just that! As I am not American, nor have I ever been in the Greek system, my knowledge of this whole thing more or less relies on the tv show Greek (which is great!). Hopefully I'm not offending any member of any of the mentioned frats/sororities! 
> 
> My beloved friend Siri looked this over for me, so if there are any remaining mistakes, they are all mine. 
> 
> I'd give warning about a lot of drunken kissing, as consent is not discussed every time. I do not wish to make anyone feel bad while reading this story! 
> 
> I am very happy with any concrit you wish to give me; my tumblr is ellievolia, my twitter is ellievolia (although it's locked!) and if you wish to contact me privately, my email is ellievolia at gmail dot com.

“Get changed, we’re going!” Octavia says as she jumps on Clarke’s bed, bouncing a little. She’s wearing her brightest grin and a flower in her hair, and Clarke sighs. 

“I’ve got a paper due.”

Octavia tugs on a strand of Clarke’s hair, her smile gentle. “Come on. You need to get out! The girls are starting to think you have some kind of disease. It’ll be fun, I promise! I’m your social chair, am I not? Trust me.”

“It’s a Kappa Sigma luau, O, not the party of the year.”

“You actually don’t know it won’t be the party of the year, so get changed and let’s go! You should put on your pink sundress,” Octavia says, and she has that tone that brokers no argument. Basically, Clarke will be going to this party, whether she wants it or not, so she might as well put on clean clothes for it. 

She may be the president of Kappa Kappa Gamma, but she knows better than to try and argue with Octavia sometimes. Some fights are just not worth it, so she gets into her pink sundress, slaps on some lipstick, and lets Octavia march her out of the KKΓ house. 

;;

As expected, it’s not the party of the year; it’s typical Kappa Sigma: loud, all over the place, and a little sticky. That’s why Clarke likes their mixers with Delta Tau Delta better - they feel more civilised, less chaotic. 

But Octavia loves these parties, and Clarke loves Octavia, so she goes whenever she’s asked. She just has to follow a couple of simple rules: 1) tell Wells she’s at the KΣ house, in case of emergencies, 2) always drink from a bottle that she opened herself, and never let go of her glass, and 3) avoid Octavia’s brother at all costs. Simple rules. 

She’s already texted Wells, but unfortunately, she breaks rule 3 enforcing rule 2, finding herself in the kitchen looking for beer when she walks straight into Bellamy. He steadies her as she staggers, pushing back as soon as she sees who it is. 

“Hey, Princess,” he starts, making her roll her eyes. It’s like their interactions are scripted, always the same fucking thing. 

“Don’t call me that. Why do you keep calling me that?”

Bellamy grins. “Because you keep on reacting like that.”

Clarke huffs, looking around the kitchen - she still doesn’t have a beer, and Bellamy is in her way, wearing a loud printed shirt and bright yellow board shorts, looking for all he’s worth like the worst of Honolulu’s tourist traps puked on him. 

“You’re an ass, you know that? Where do you hide your beer?”

“Nowhere,” he replies, moving past her to open the fridge and reveal a half-empty pack of Coors and a full one of Natty Lite. Clarke tries not to wrinkle her nose too obviously, and reaches for a Coors. 

“Thanks. I guess.”

“What are you even doing here? I know my house isn’t your scene, Princess.”

“Your sister made me, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and find her,” Clarke replies, pushing past him without waiting for an answer. She doesn’t really know why Bellamy irritates her so much, besides the fact that he knows he does, and he loves to push her buttons because of it. It’s just - she’s not sure he actually cares about his frat brothers, past getting them to throw ragers with a loose theme, to keep on track with their packed social calendars. She has no idea how he got elected president of Kappa Sigma, and she’s not going to find out, whatever Octavia says about her brother not being that bad. Clarke just doesn’t care. 

;;

Clarke spends the day after the luau in bed, working her way out of a hangover and into the right frame to write her paper. She remembers dancing on the Kappa Sigma porch at some point, their pledges’ secret moonshine in the cup she was holding. She remember laughing a lot with one of them, Jasper, a cute gangly kid with hope all over his stupid jokes. After that, it gets a bit blurry. 

Blaming Octavia is useless, but it still feels good. 

;;

Clarke likes the Delta Tau Delta and Kappa Kappa Gamma mixers. They’re a lot more fun than people think they might be - it’s not just a bunch of stuck-up future politicians, lawyers and doctors discussing their options after college. They can throw a kegger like the best of them, it just tends to involve less vomiting. 

It’s a white party, thrown together so that the pledgers can meet and greet, more of a social event than an all-out blowout, for which Clarke is grateful - she isn’t sure she can deal with that amount of beer again after the luau from the past weekend. 

It’s also a Wednesday. 

“Clarke!”

Clarke turns around, grinning when she sees Wells waving her over. She moves through the crowd gathered in the ΔΤΔ house, hugging him briefly when she gets to him. “Hey, Wellies. How are you?”

“All good. So, what’s the damage? Tell me everything.”

Clarke hops up to sit by Wells on the windowsill he likes to perch on to observe during such parties, her feet kicking in the air. He’s got a cooler by his side, and she reaches over, grabbing a Bud from the ice. 

“We got about 30 pledges this turn, and a couple of transfers. I’m keeping my eye on Monroe as I think I might make her my little sis. No stranger danger so far, but you never know this early on. Maya seems to have a good head on her shoulders. What about yours?”

“One transfer only, Finn. He’s cool. 20 or so pledgers. Bit stuck-up for now. They’re scared of me.”

“You’re the Dean’s son, Wellies, of course they’re scared of you.”

Wells rolls his eyes, and Clarke bumps his shoulder with hers. “How many are you keeping?”

“Not sure yet. You?”

“Need to discuss it with O and Harper. Probably half.”

“Okay. Gonna go mingle, will give you a report later on?”

“Sure, same here.”

They both hop off their perch and join the crowd after a fist bump and a grin. This is why Clarke loves Wells; Wells is easy, makes it easy. She can always count on Wells. 

She meets pledges from both houses, dances with Octavia, and ends up meeting Finn while getting some fresh air on the back porch. He’s leaning against it next to her, long floppy hair falling into his eyes, and he smiles at her when she settles next to him, blowing out a loud breath. 

“Hard night?” he asks, all grin and raised eyebrows. 

Clarke shakes her head. “Nah, just warm in there. I’m Clarke,” she says, holding out her hand. 

He shakes it. “Finn.”

“Oh, the transfer.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, the transfer.”

“Well, welcome, Finn.”

He nods, and his eyes are twinkling. 

Clarke wouldn’t be able to say why he kisses her, a while later, but she doesn’t stop him. He cuts her off mid-sentence as she was explaining why she chose ΚΚΓ, after he told her about his hometown and his sister and his favorite movies. She lost track of time talking with Finn, because he looks at her like she’s the only person around, like he’s fine here and not inside where the party is going on, because she’s there. Clarke is used to respect, sometimes fear, but rarely obvious interest and attraction like this. It makes her feel warm, deep in her belly. 

He kisses her sweet, and tasting of cheap beer; he kisses her unexpected, and Clarke makes a small noise into it, turning towards Finn and grabbing his upper arm. 

Finn smiles, snakes a hand to Clarke’s hip, and pulls back. “I’m sorry -” he says, because yeah, he should have asked first, but Clarke isn’t mad. 

“It’s fine,” she replies, pushing closer, brushing her nose against his, meeting his eyes. She grins, and he kisses her again. This time Clarke is more prepared, and moves right into him, wrapping an arm around Finn’s shoulders and allowing the kiss to grow deeper. She’s smiling against Finn’s lips, arching into him as he holds her against him, the two of them in a corner of the porch. It’s a sloppy make out session and Clarke doesn’t do that much - she tries to show a certain restraint in front of her sisters, because she’s the president and all, but. She likes Finn, even if they’ve only known each other for what, an hour? It doesn’t matter. 

They laugh between kisses, and Finn’s hand is under Clarke’s white shirt, thumb brushing along her spine. 

“You’re good at this,” he says after a while, and Clarke feels the smile on her face turning a bit smug. 

“You’re okay,” she replies, and he laughs, tilting his head back. 

“You’re a hard sell.”

Clarke smirks, huffing out a laugh herself; he’s not the first to say that, even if the circumstances are different. She’s about to respond when the door behind them opens, the party noises from inside growing tenfold. 

“Clarke, there you are! I’ve been looking for you for ages, come on!” 

Clarke pulls away from Finn, turning to see Octavia’s head, just poking out of the door. “I haven’t exactly been hiding, O.”

“This party is boring as hell and most of the girls want to go, so let’s go!”

Clarke looks back at Finn, giving him an apologetic look. “I should go,” she says, and he nods. 

“Sure. See you again, though?”

Squeezing Finn’s hand, Clarke nods. “I’d like that.”

;;

“So who was the guy?” Harper asks at the end of the meeting she, Octavia and Clarke were holding about their pledges, turning towards Clarke on the couch, grinning from ear to ear.

“What guy?”

“The one you were making out with yesterday! The one, with the hair!”

“Oh, Finn,” Clarke can’t help but blush. “He’s a transfer to Delta, from Maine.”

“He was cute,” Octavia says with a nod. “Not as cute as Lincoln, but I set the bar pretty high with this one.”

Clarke throws a pillow at her head, and Octavia laughs, batting it off. 

“Are you seeing him again, Clarkey?” Harper asks.

“I...Hopefully? I don’t know,” Clarke is blushing again. 

Octavia throws the pillow right back at her. “Just take him to bed, Griffin!”

Clarke groans. “You’re terrible friends, and I hate you both. I have a paper to work on, bye.”

She stands, and Octavia fake-swoons on the couch, her voice going high-pitched. “Oh, Finn the transfer, take me in a manly fashion!”

“ _Bye!_ ”

;;

The Philanthropy Greek meeting is always kind of a grand affair, one to which Clarke hates going to - not that she doesn’t want to do Philanthropy, she _does_ , it’s kind of one of the best things about the whole Greek community, but it’s just. So formal, and uptight, because it’s presided over by the Dean and they all have to behave. 

Also, it’s extremely boring, and lasts for hours. 

Clarke is sitting by Wells, with Murphy on her other side - she can see Bellamy a few rows ahead, his hair looking like he actually brushed it for once. They all make an effort for this one. 

Clarke, before the meeting starts, looks around the room, looks at all the Presidents and their associated crowds, the Philanthropy chairs up close to the podium. Her gaze falls upon Finn, and she smiles, until - “Hey, who’s the girl with Finn?”

“That’s Raven,” Wells replies easily. They look - cozy, comfortable together. A weight settles in her stomach. 

“He totally transferred so he could bang that again,” Murphy says, and Clarke straightens up some more in her chair. “I mean, I don’t blame the guy, but it’s a bit much for a high-school sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Clarke replies, at a loss for words. Wells gives her a look. 

“You okay?”

She nods, tilting her chin up. “I’m fine.” She’s not really fine. 

;;

“This is the perfect opportunity, Clarkey. Let’s go, put on masks, and you can dance the night away with someone who isn’t Finn the cheating transfer,” Octavia says from her spot at her own wardrobe. Her side of their shared room is covered with dresses, shoes, and accessories. Nothing actually new here. Clarke is sitting cross-legged on her own bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. 

“I’m not really in the mood to party.”

Octavia gives her an exasperated look. “Oh, _please_. You barely know the guy! It’s not like your heart is broken. Also,” she says, grabbing her bag and pulling a bottle of wine out of it, “I totally planned for us to pregame.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but still holds out her hand for the bottle - screw top, none of the fancy stuff. She takes a couple of swallows before passing it back to Octavia. It burns a little, and it’ll do just fine. 

“All you gotta do Clarke, is to get back on the horse immediately! Just make sure that whoever you choose is taller than you and you’ll be certain it’s not Finn. No repeat experience.”

“Are you getting Lincoln to come?”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t keep him away even if I wanted to. He’s all too into the idea of sweeping me off my feet or something. I hope he wears a tux,” she concludes with a grin, passing the bottle over again. 

By the time they’re done with their pregaming, Octavia is decked out in sparkles, Clarke is wearing one of her more formal dresses with a smokey eye that makes the mask she’s sporting even more dramatic, and Octavia is looking all too proud of herself. They’re also both pleasantly buzzed, which was exactly the point, and makes Clarke actually looking forward to the evening to come. 

She’s not like Octavia, she doesn’t believe in Prince Charmings during masquerade balls, but she can still have a good time. 

;;

Clarke didn’t think she’d follow Octavia’s advice quite so closely. But here she is, on the dancefloor of the reception room they hired for this social, with the moonlight streaming in from the high windows and a band singing classics that her dad used to love. 

And she’s dancing. She’s dancing with a boy she hasn’t said a word to, and it’s fine - he’s smiling at her, and his eyes are soft through his mask. She’s tipsy, a little light-headed, and having a great time with a stranger. Exactly what Octavia said for her to do, just missing the kissing. 

Her stranger twirls Clarke at the perfect accent of the Temptations song they’re dancing to, and Clarke laughs breathlessly when she’s pulled back into his arms. He’s tall - he’s really tall, and he’s tan against her ridiculously pale skin, and she has to stand on her tiptoes to press her lips to his, just briefly. His hand reaches up to brush hair off her shoulder, a gentle touch that feels a little reverent to Clarke. She licks her lips, and leans up for another kiss, this time a little longer, if still tentative. 

But he kisses back, soft too, the tips of his fingers delicate against her throat. They’re swaying against the music, and Clarke grins into the kiss, wrapping an arm around his neck. She doesn’t know his name and she doesn’t even know the whole of his face; there are no consequences and for once, she’s all too happy not to worry about them. 

He’s a good kisser, too, and his hair is soft under her fingers. 

Which is why she’s sad when he suddenly disappears; some guy comes to them and pulls at his sleeve, whispering something too low for Clarke to hear against the music. Her stranger turns back to her, looking contrite, and kisses her chastely once more before pulling away and walking through the crowd. A click of the fingers, and he’s gone. 

Clarke is almost more disappointed than when she had to walk away from Finn. 

;;

The next morning, at breakfast, Octavia sits next to Clarke, and gives out her biggest wolfish grin. She looks so proud and pleased with herself that Clarke has to check her clothes, make sure she wasn’t the victim of a prank she missed. 

“What?”

“Did you have fun last night?”

Clarke looks down at her granola. “Sure. Just did what you told me to.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you to make out with my brother, but sure, I guess it counts since he’s not Finn the transfer,” Octavia replies, and Clarke looks up sharply. She didn’t - she couldn’t have - surely she would recognize _Bellamy_! 

“I didn’t!”

“Really, Clarke? You think I wouldn’t recognize Bellamy?”

“You think _I_ wouldn’t?”

Octavia grins around a mouthful of frosted flakes. “You obviously didn’t. I feel bound by blood to say that you could probably do worse, etc etc, but I know you dislike him, for some reason. But yeah, that guy you were dancing with? That was totally Bell.”

Clarke’s eyes grow wide as she pokes at her breakfast, her throat suddenly dry. “Well, shit.”

;;

“Clarke! _Clarke_!” 

Clarke is going to be late for her anthropology class if she stops, but - she guesses this conversation has to happen at some point, and better now than when she’s drunk. She stops walking, turns around, and squares her shoulders as she looks up at Bellamy, running to catch up with her. The Human Sciences building is busy, students moving all around them, and they’re in the middle of the hallway, awkwardly standing a few feet away from each other. 

“Hi,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “So, um.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, and decides to bite the bullet. It might be better for both of them. “Hey, you know. It’s - whatever. I was drunk, I didn’t even know it was you until the next morning, so.”

She realizes how bad it sounds when she says it, and she looks at a frown suddenly appear on his face. Even if she doesn’t really like him, she knows it’s kind of shitty. Bellamy recovers quickly, though, shrugging a shoulder with a half-smirk. 

“Drunk, Princess? Who would have thought you could unclench long enough for this to happen.”

“Oh, fuck you very much, Bellamy, I know how to have fun.”

“Sure,” he replies, his smirk growing. “You’re the epitome of fun. When looking up the word ‘fun’ in the dictionary, there’s your picture.” Clarke rolls her eyes - she needs to make better decisions when it comes to her love life, that much is obvious. 

“I wonder how you get anyone to make out with you,” Clarke says, her voice low. His smile only grows even bigger, but before he can reply something that she’s sure will just make her feel even more mortified, she turns away from him. “Anyway, I’m going to be late for class.”

;;

“Okay, so I know this is going to sound completely deranged, but I need your help,” Clarke says hurriedly when she finds Bellamy by the makeshift bar - yet another of Kappa Sigma parties with too much booze and sometimes, way too little clothing. 

Bellamy turns towards Clarke, an eyebrow raised. She can’t blame him - the last time they talked wasn’t exactly pleasant, for either of them. “Look, I can’t find Wells anywhere, nor Lincoln or even Octavia, and I need...something.”

“What, exactly, do you need, Princess?” Bellamy drawls, bending slightly closer.

“Kiss me,” she says, urgent, as Bellamy’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“What?”

“Now,” Clarke adds, “ _now_ , Bellamy,” tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. She must look sufficiently distressed, because his surprised look melts into something that looks more like concern.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m just - trying to avoid someone, and make sure he gets the right idea about me,” Clarke replies, lifting her eyes up to look straight into Bellamy’s. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth, either. “I promise I’ll explain. It’s silly.”

Bellamy looks around for a beat, like he’s trying to find out who’s bothering Clarke, but she tugs on his sleeve again, and he looks back at her. He doesn’t say anything, just reaches out for her, his hand cupping her jaw, and leans down into her, kissing her softly. Clarke isn’t as drunk this time, and yet she feels it all the way to her toes, just like last time. Her stomach swoops funnily, and she wraps a hand around Bellamy’s wrist, keeping him right where he is. 

He pulls away anyway, after a long, chaste kiss that makes Clarke keep her eyes closed for a few beats after it ends, her lips just parted. She can smell the beer on Bellamy’s breath as he stays close, can taste it on her lips when she licks them. He’s smirking again when she opens her eyes, and, with a lot of effort, Clarke manages not to roll her eyes at him. 

When she looks over to their side, she nods to herself, satisfied. Finn meets her eyes and frowns, and Clarke looks straight back at Bellamy, hoping she looks sort of enamored. At least a little. 

“Do you need to kick someone’s ass, Princess? You got a stalker or something?”

Clarke takes a deep breath, and shakes her head, hair sticking to her lips. “No, not exactly. It’s just - I was with this guy, a couple of weeks ago, and he ended up having a girlfriend, but now he’s still trying to get close to me like. Like I don’t know, or like he doesn’t care, I’m not sure, but it’s not my kind of game,” she says, all of it pretty rushed. Finn’s not even alone tonight, but he’s still already tried to corner her in the kitchen, _just to talk_. 

“It’s better to play games with me?” Bellamy asks, surprising Clarke. She can’t read the expression on his face.

“What? No! I’m not playing games with you.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Princess,” he says darkly, taking a long drag of his beer. 

“Bellamy -”

Bellamy sighs. “Clarke, I don’t care. You can use me for your little plots if you feel like it. It’s not like it’s _hard_ to kiss you,” he adds, looking down at Clarke, who flushes. “Chin up, Princess.”

She should hate herself for going to Bellamy with this, for kissing him again, knowing fully who she was with, and not caring - enjoying it, even. She doesn’t like Bellamy she doesn’t like how arrogant and exhausting he is, and how nothing seems to ever get to him. But, somehow - for some reason she can’t really fathom, she trusts him. Better Bellamy than some rando. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a pool game waiting for my refereeing,” Bellamy says, and Clarke nods at him, stepping aside. He bows, grinning at her again, and saunters off. Clarke tries to forget about the feeling of his lips against hers. With vodka.

;;

The Ark’s annual karaoke night is always a full house, but to Clarke, this year it seems even crazier than before. The bar’s not big, and it’s packed up to the gills, cheering on whoever is on the tiny stage, butchering Celine Dion or Sam Smith, in turn. 

“Gonna sing?” Wells asks, leaning an elbow against the high table their little group has gathered around. 

“I would have to be a lot, _lot_ more fucked than I am right now,” she replies drily, making Wells laugh. 

“Well, I think Usher will learn a lesson or two from me tonight,” Wells says, making Clarke grin. She can’t wait.

Harper joins them after her rendition of Total Eclipse Of The Heart, which was actually pretty decent, and grins as she holds up a bunch of faded yellow tickets. “So, turns out the dude handing out the free drinks voucher is totally hot for me, so next round’s on me, guys!”

Which is how Clarke ends up with two vodka lemonades - doubles - waiting for her to finish her current drink, and Wells out to sign up the karaoke sheet, when Bellamy shows up. “Busy night, Princess?” he asks, 

“I have no idea how this happened,” she replies, eyeing the drinks set in front of her. Bellamy laughs, leaning by her side. “Hey,” she adds, looking up at him. 

“Hi,” he says, his eyes soft. Clarke looks away, flushing. She grabs one of her glasses, taking a long pull of the sweet drink. 

“Gonna sing?” she asks when she’s done, her throat still a little dry. 

Bellamy shakes his head. “No chance.”

“What, you’re going to tell me the fearless Kappa Sigma president won’t embarrass himself?”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at Clarke, drinking a mouthful of beer before answering. “You know that the big KS genderswap party is coming up, right? I have _high heels_ , Clarke. I just can’t sing,” he finishes with a smile, because Clarke totally checked his legs out - she couldn’t help herself - and he totally caught her doing so. Damnit. 

“Because you call this good singing?” she asks, trying to gain her footing back. Jasper is currently wailing on top of a Blondie track, and Clarke is really looking forward to the soothing effect of Miller’s incredible voice when he inevitably comes up to cover _Hallelujah_. 

“It’s better than anything I could come up with, believe me,” Bellamy replies eventually, fondness in his tone. He does, actually, really care for his pledges. 

“Well, I look forward to seeing you in heels,” Clarke says, unthinking, and flushes when he smirks at her in answer. “I mean, for blackmail material reasons.”

“Sure, Clarke. For blackmail,”

;;

A few days after the karaoke night, Clarke’s having lunch with Wells before his art history class, sitting in the grass by the building’s entrance, basking in the spring sunshine. She closes her eyes and tilts her head up, the image of a sunflower popping up in her head, making her smile. 

“So, you and Bellamy,” Wells says suddenly, and Clarke startles, blinking her eyes open. 

“What?”

Wells shrugs, then leans back on his elbows, looking totally unconcerned. “Finn told me he saw you two at some party or another.”

Well, fuck. 

“It’s nothing.”

“Hey, I don’t care. You do you. Can’t say I’m his biggest fan, but I guess it’s not as bad as Finn double-timing you and Raven.”

Clarke huffs out a laugh, taking a bite of her apple. “He’s something else, isn’t he? Never actually told me about Raven, you know? Didn’t apologize.”

“He’s not a bad dude.”

Clarke doesn’t respond.

;;

Turns out that Bellamy in high heels and a dress? Is _breathtaking_. He looks about a million feet tall, and he doesn’t look comfortable, but he’s bearing it, and grinning, his eyes twinkling with amusement when they meet Clarke’s through the crowd amassed at the Kappa Sigma house. 

Clarke, for herself, is wearing a tux, but in a loose fashion - her bow tie is hanging undone around her neck, and the pants are too big, a couple of buttons popped open at her collar. She doesn’t have a waistcoat on, just the jacket, a smidge too long. Hair slicked back in a bun at the nape of her neck, and smokey eye complete her genderswap look. When she walks closer, she sees that Bellamy’s black dress is supposed to be floor length, hitting his ankles - he’s just so tall - a simple round collar, sleek dress that he accessorized with pearls. When Clarke gets close enough, she also gets to see that he’s wearing eyeliner.

He should look ridiculous. Instead, he just looks breathtaking - Clarke really has no other word for it. 

“Hey, Princess,” Bellamy greets Clarke with, his low tone contrasting starkly with the outfit. 

“Hi,” she replies, feeling way out of her depth. Since when - since when does she really find Bellamy attractive? She needs so much more alcohol for this. “Seen the vodka?” she asks, just to think of something else. 

“Kitchen,” he replies. “You look good, Clarke,” he adds after a beat, and Clarke flushes. 

“You make a surprisingly delicate looking lady, Bell,” she replies quickly before moving away, unsure that staying any longer will end well for either of them. Mainly, she’s not sure she can keep herself from propositioning him _again_ and she really, really shouldn’t do that. No. Bad Clarke. 

She finds the vodka. She finds the party shortly after; she finds Harper and Octavia and Monty and Maya and she dances, she drinks, she laughs. Hair escapes her bun as she follows her friends in some reworked version of riverdancing mixed with can-can, her makeup smudges around her eyes, and she has a great time. 

She also manages not to think about Bellamy until, well, she sees him again. She’s back in the kitchen, swaying a bit on her feet as she waits for the group mixing their drinks to move on so that she can get hers in, and he bumps into her from behind, making her whirl around. “Oh, heyyyy!”

“Good?” he asks, and Clarke smiles, nods. 

“Good. You look pretty,” she says, grinning up at Bellamy, and he laughs. 

“Thanks, Clarke.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and then he tentatively reaches out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She turns her head as he does it, his palm curling around her cheek, and Clarke sighs, her eyes shifting between his and his lips. His eyeliner is smudged too, his hair is a mess over his forehead, his eyes are shiny with alcohol, and his lips are licked wet, so inviting. 

“Oh, fuck it,” Clarke murmurs under her breath, drops her cup to the floor, and pulls Bellamy to her by a light hold on his necklace. He goes easily, their lips crashing together, a little off-center until Bellamy drags his hand to Clarke’s neck and repositions them. Clarke melts right into Bellamy, realizing that he’s lost the heels at some point, because he’s his normal height as he holds her to him, her breasts pressing into his chest. She circles his shoulders with her arms, anchoring herself into his embrace when she opens her mouth to his, letting out a tiny moan when he slides his tongue against hers. 

Clarke feels Bellamy move them, a couple of steps backwards and they’re against the wall, in a dark corner of the kitchen - not that she gives a shit, right now, about who can see them. It’s just - man, she’s been thoroughly kissed before, but her toes are curling in her shoes right now, it’s so good. She’s breathless and dizzy with it, her body reacting to every single touch. When Bellamy drags his palm across her back, Clarke shivers, biting lightly on his bottom lip, and he groans against hers, pulling away from the kiss just enough to suck a kiss against the tender skin of her neck. Clarke instantly reacts, electrified; her hand shoots up and tangles in the messy curls at the back of his head as she allows him better access, even as her brain reminds her that hickeys are a pain to cover up. 

They stay right where they are, completely lost into each other, for a long time - Clarke has no desire to go back to the party now, and when Bellamy pulls away enough to look at her, Clarke feels flushed, her legs like jelly, arousal coursing through her system, pooling low in her belly. 

“I should -” she says, and swallows thickly. She kisses him again, just because - just because he’s right here, and he’s looking at her with hooded eyes, and Clarke is way too drunk for this. “I should go,” she ends up managing. She really needs to sleep this one off.

She expects Bellamy to protest, try to keep her here with him, but instead he nods, rests his chin on top of her head for a second before kissing her forehead lightly. “Yeah, okay,” he says simply, softly. She kisses him again before she steps away and takes the easy escape route, through the Kappa Sigma backyard.

;;

Thing is, outside of these parties, Clarke doesn’t really see Bellamy, and that suits her just fine. She doesn’t need to be reminded of her drunken mistakes, really. 

Because that’s all it is - a weird compulsion when she’s three sheets to the wind and Bellamy suddenly doesn’t seem like such a bad choice anymore. It’s not a relationship, it’s just. Fun. Whatever. 

She doesn’t regret it, and she’s pretty sure he doesn’t regret it, either. She doesn’t feel _bad_ about it, it’s just. She doesn’t seem to have a lot of self-control when she’s around Bellamy, so it’s better to see him as little as possible. Also, she doesn’t really want him to give her any reasons to _actually_ like him, and, like, enjoy his company outside of parties, or whatever. 

Making out with him is enough, she doesn’t really need to develop a _crush_ , too. Ugh. 

;;

The paintball party is….kind of a mess, if Clarke’s honest, but in a good, good way. It’s one of her favorites, because they spent a few hours running around Greek row shooting neon paintballs at each other, and now they’re all in a blacklit room, flashes of neon over everybody’s clothes, hair, faces, hands, showing in the darkness like bright spots as they dance. It’s actually really great. 

Clarke is having a blast. She’s high on adrenaline, jumping around to some EDM alongside Octavia and Maya and Jasper, their cheeks and clothes streaked with neon yellow, blue, green, pink. She’s been drinking a mix of weirdly-mixed Long Island Iced Teas and some hard milkshakes that came in frosted metal cups, and she is thoroughly, thoroughly enjoying herself. 

Sometimes, Kappa Sigma really isn’t that bad. And sometimes, their President really isn’t that bad, either, Clarke thinks as she spots him on the dancefloor, his teeth so white, his face and hair streaked with the same colors hers are. There is paint down his arms, too, accentuating his biceps and just how blindingly white his shirt is. He looks - well, he looks good. Really good. 

Bellamy sees her looking at him, and Clarke flushes in the dark, turning to Octavia instead, leaning in. “Gonna get some fresh air!” she yells in her friend’s ear, and Octavia grins, nods, and lets Clarke move past her. 

Outside, the quiet is almost deafening. There’s a few people chatting, drinking, people who probably didn’t want to mingle with the bunch of sweaty, excited kids down in the basement. Fair enough. 

Clarke goes to sit on the swinging bench a little way away from the house, trying to escape the muted bass filtering from the house still. She smiles to herself, looks up at the sky, tries to detangle her hair a little - a lost cause. When Bellamy makes his way to her, she’s relaxed, less overexcited from the afternoon, and more mellowed out. 

“Hey,” she greets him as he sits by her side, his foot pushing the swing a little. Clarke laughs, tugging one of his curls. “That’s extraordinarily pink.”

“I pull it off,” he replies, blowing out the curl off his forehead with a grin.

Clarke sighs. “You kind of do. Don’t be smug about it,” she adds in warning, holding up a finger a him. He grins anyway, grabbing her finger and pulling her to him, just a tug, but she goes easily, leaning against his side. She enjoys how solid he feels, how big and strong he is; she used to think she liked scrawny guys better, but Bellamy might be changing her mind about having a type.

Bellamy slides a finger under her chin after a while, pulling her to look at him. “Hey,” he says, like he’s startled out of his words by the way she looks at him, and then he leans in, kissing her, long and soft. Clarke makes a noise, finding herself smiling into the kiss and straightening to change the angle. She can feel paint smear under her fingers when she reaches up to dig them into his jaw a little, and feels hot where his hand is curled around her hip under her shirt, against her skin. 

It’s not a rushed, urgent kiss this time; it’s, like them, mellow and unhurried. It feels like Bellamy is trying to map Clarke out and Clarke is feeling incredibly soft and pliant under his touch, like she’s soaking in a hot bath after a long day of classes. She sighs contently through her nose, moving to straddle him, both her hands on his face now, tilting it up to meet hers when their positions change. 

He pulls away after a while, kissing the corner of Clarke’s mouth, her cheek, her jaw. He looks back at her when he’s done, his pinkie finger slipping past the waistband of her loose cotton pants. “I really like kissing you,” he says softly, earnest, and Clarke looks straight back at him and his amused, twinkling eyes. 

“Yeah, me too,” she replies. She has paint-colored fingers from running them over his face and hair, and she’s sure she’ll find smears of bright paint all over her middle when she undresses later. At this point, trying to pretend it’s not a thing is a bit of a lost cause.

Instead, she chooses to kiss him again. 

;;

There’s a bachelor auction at the Ark, and it’s stupid as fuck. Clarke doesn’t bid on anyone, not on Wells, certainly not on Bellamy - some girl from Phi Mu actually wins him for a date and he looks sort of embarrassed and earnestly willing to enjoy her company at the same time, but his eyes keep on catching Clarke’s. She shrugs at him, holds her drink up to toast him, and mouth _have fun!_ at him. 

She’s not actually happy about the whole thing, but if she is ever going to announce to the world that she and Bellamy are...whatever they are, and doing whatever they’re doing, a bachelor fucking auction in front of the whole of Greek row is not the way she’d choose. 

So whatever, she keeps her jealousy in check, and stews as unobtrusively as she can. 

;;

Bellamy corners her at a Kappa Kappa Gamma afternoon tea - a place where he _most definitely_ shouldn’t be. She squeaks at him when he backs her against a wall in the now-deserted kitchen, looking him up and down - he’s streaked with dirt, and his skin is hot to the touch, like he’s been baking in the sun. 

“What -”

“Was redoing the kids’ sports center’s roof,” he says, a little breathless. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and somehow, the fact that he’s been doing philanthropic work gets her going just as much as how attractive he looks right now. 

Clarke licks her lips. “You’re going to ruin my dress,” she replies, no heat behind the words. 

“Good,” he says, curling a hand in the skirt of it, and pulling Clarke up into a searing kiss that makes her scramble to grasp at his shoulders. If she could climb him, she _would_. 

He leaves her, weak-kneed and shivering a little, just a few minutes later. He backs up and disappears through the back door, and Clarke presses the back of her hand against her lips, still completely dazed by Bellamy fucking Blake. Fucking figures he’d be the one to make her feel like she’s just been thoroughly fucked, with just a kiss. 

Damn Bellamy Blake.

;;

“Are you still making out with my brother?” Octavia asks one evening.

Clarke makes a face at the book she’s reading. “Would it be a big deal if I was?” she asks, cautious. 

“Nah. I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Clarke spits out the water she’d been drinking, and Octavia laughs in her face, hard. 

;;

Clarke howls when she sends the ping pong ball straight into Bellamy’s bottom row left-hand side cup, throwing her arms in the air as people whoop and cheer around them. She grins at Bellamy, who’s already drinking the beer, a dark look in his eyes when he throws it to the floor. 

“It’s on, Princess,” he says, taking a ball from the bucket next to him, and launching it across the table to her cups. He’s swaying a little already but he gets her anyway, sinks one right in the middle row, and Clarke rolls her eyes at him over the cup as she drinks it. 

They go on, surrounded by their friends - the Big Beer Pong Tournament at Kappa Sigma is in full swing - Clarke doesn’t usually participate, but Bellamy goaded her, and she didn’t need much more to get in on it. She’s already won against Murphy and Miller, as well as Finn - which was very satisfactory, she’s got to admit - and now she’s finding herself facing a very determined, very competitive Bellamy.

When it’s his turn again, he takes his time, leaning over the table to give her a look - it’s kind of a filthy look, one that travels down her face to her chest and back up, and it’d make her uncomfortable if she wasn’t already a little tipsy. 

“You sure you don’t want to throw the towel, Clarke?” he asks her, and she tilts her chin up at him, crossing her arms in a move that thrusts her chest out a bit, attracting his gaze again - this time on purpose. 

“Bring it, Bell,” she replies, defiant. 

“Get playing or get a room, guys!” Monty yells from next to them, and Clarke sticks her tongue out at him.

“Don’t be jeal-” she doesn’t have time to finish it that Bellamy sends his ping pong ball right in her middle cup, the dirty cup. “Fuck!” 

Bellamy’s grin is the smuggest thing ever and Clark wishes she could say it looks ugly. 

“Drink up, Princess,” he says, and Clarke sighs, grabs the cup of liquor, and downs it as quickly as she can, wincing as the alcohol burns down her throat. Her vision swims for a second when she’s done, dropping the cup on the grass, but she holds onto the table, grinning back at Bellamy. 

“You’re going to pay for this.”

“I can’t wait,” he replies, and it sounds more like a promise than anything else he’s said yet. 

In the end, Clarke loses, and she’s a fucking sore loser, but she’s also drunk and she wants to sit down, so whatever. Also, she gave good game and her friends look impressed with her and her skills, so it’s not all a loss. As she goes to give Wells her place for his quarter final against Myles, she wobbles, giggling to herself. She’s never going to make it without falling on her face, that’s for sure, but then, suddenly, Bellamy is at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist. He steadies her, and helps her to one of the blankets they’ve laid out all over the yard, sitting next to her once he’s got her settled. 

She gives him a stern look. “I’m mad at you,” she says, her voice sounding low to her own ears. Bellamy laughs. 

“No, you’re not really. I knew you were competitive, but Clarke, that was a _lot_ of beer.”

She shrugs, swaying some more. “I couldn’t let you win easy, what would be the fun?”

“You know, when I first met you, I thought you were a stuck-up, kind of uptight rich girl,” he says, and Clarke frowns at him, opening her mouth. He doesn’t give her the time to reply with a piece of her mind, though. “But you - you’re fun. You’re smart. You care about good stuff.”

“Well, you were an arrogant smug dickhead,” she replies anyway, because the words were all there, ready. “I mean, you still are, but you’re also nice. How’s the kids’ sport center by the way?”

It’s a random thought, but she’s at the point where every random thought come out. Bellamy smiles. “It looks great. I’m going to coach the kids in soccer when it’s all done.”

“That’s awesome. See, that’s awesome. I like that about you. You, like - you’re like an onion, you have layers,” she says, and gestures layers with her hands. They’re blurry in the bright night. 

“Do you like onions?” Bellamy asks in answer, and Clarke turns to him. 

“Yeah. Onions are great.”

They both smile. 

;;

“Come on!” Bellamy exclaims, grabbing Clarke’s hand and pulling her along. Clarke yelps, putting the full shot glass she’s just been given down and motioning at Jasper. 

“It’s yours now!” she says as loud as she can, while climbing up the stairs after Bellamy. “Bell, _what_?”

“We’re going to the roof,” he says, excitement shining in his eyes. Clarke raises an eyebrow at him but lets him lead her there, through some Kappa Sigma’s bedroom and outside the window to the somewhat flat roof, overlooking the frat house backyard. The random party is going on in full swing, people dancing outside with glow sticks and not much clothing. 

They settle there, looking down at the kids partying for a while before lying down side by side, Clarke’s hair cushioning her on the hard tile. 

“There’s a meteor shower tonight,” Bellamy says, and Clarke turns to look at him. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I - I like that kind of stuff.”

“Well,” Clarke says, turning back to look at the night sky. “I learn new things about you every day.”

Bellamy scoffs, then points at a cluster of stars to their right. “See that? It’s the Virgo constellation. Represents all the super badass female deities.”

“Shooting star!” Clarke points, her exclamation nothing more than a whisper, slightly awed. She hardly ever takes the time to enjoy this kind of thing.

“And this one,” Bellamy continues, pointing at a group of stars which, to Clark, look a bit like a kite, “is Bootes. It’s a farmer who plows the land during spring. The Romans called Bootes the Herdsman of the Septemtriones, because all seven stars of the Big Dipper were, like, ox, while the Big Dipper itself is the plow, or a cart.”

Clarke looks at Bellamy again. In this light, with the torches burning in the yard below them and the stars, she can make out his freckles, dusting the bridge of his nose. She wants to map them, give them names, know their history and shapes. 

“I’m into drawing,” she blurts out without thinking, and Bellamy looks at her. 

“You are?”

“Yeah, like, fine arts. I do a lot of charcoal. I’ll show you, if you like.”

Bellamy smiles, soft, leaning in closer. He frames Clarke’s face with a hand, thumb brushing her cheek as he kisses her, something that makes her toes curl in her trainers. She surges into it, kissing him back hard, pulling him into her arms until they’re lying here on the roof, sort of hugging, mindlessly kissing available skin - cheeks, chins, jaws, necks. 

“You want to go out with me?” Bellamy asks into Clarke’s hair, and she nods, hiding her smile in the crook of his neck. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

;;

The end


End file.
